


Beyond the Government

by szm



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szm/pseuds/szm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood goes to London</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Government

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by aeron lanart

John wasn’t quite sure what had woken him at first. He glanced at the clock, 6.50. The alarm would be going off in ten minutes anyway, time to get up. There were the sounds of low voices coming from downstairs; Sherlock must have a visitor.

“No, no, no, no!” Sherlock suddenly announced, loud enough for John to hear from upstairs. Hell, probably loud enough for Mrs Hudson to hear, not that loud exclamations from Sherlock were something that would worry their landlady. The answering voice was pitched too quietly for John to make it out but the tone was patient and long suffering and, to be honest, a little patronising.

So that would be Mycroft then.

When John got downstairs, Mycroft was wearing the expression that only Sherlock seemed to inspire, equal parts frustration, despair, and fondness. Sherlock was reaching for his violin.

“Ah, good morning John,” Mycroft nodded and smiled at John as he walked in, then he directed his gaze back to Sherlock. “Do think about it, brother. That is all I ask,” he said with a sigh. 

Mycroft turned to leave just as Sherlock put the bow to the strings. John retreated to the kitchen to make tea as the clashing twisted chords from the violin chased Mycroft out. John made Sherlock tea as well without really thinking about it, any opportunity to get food-like substances into him. John was just trying to decide if it was worth attempting to get Sherlock to eat toast as well when the man in question swept into the kitchen. He then sighed loudly and pointedly in John’s ear. John very carefully didn’t smirk and certainly was not planning on asking Sherlock about his brother’s visit.

“Toast?” he asked instead keeping his voice as blank as possible.

“What on earth would I want toast for at this time of night?” asked Sherlock incredulously.

“Sherlock, it’s nearly 7am,” corrected John gently, putting extra bread in the toaster for Sherlock anyway.

Sherlock glanced out of the window, and didn’t answer.

John handed him his tea with a frown. “Have you been up all night again?”

“Don’t fuss, John.” Sherlock sipped the tea and sighed again. Quieter this time, but no less pointed. John wondered idly if he could get Sherlock to press the back of his hand to his forehead like an overly-dramatic Victorian heroine; swooning even, lack of sleep and no proper meals had to take their toll sometime after all. The toast shot up and John pushed it back down again without looking.

“Well?” asked Sherlock his patience apparently running out.

John rooted round in the cupboard for an unopened jar of jam. If Sherlock had been up all night John wasn’t risking anything with a broken seal. “Well, what?” he replied. He could feel Sherlock glaring at his back. He pressed the cancel button on the side of the toaster and the toast jumped up obediently. John took Sherlock’s out and started to spread the jam (not worth risking the butter, no seal on that) he pushed his own toast back down for a bit longer. When he held out the plate for Sherlock to take, Sherlock looked at him like he’d offered up a half dead rat. Scratch that, Sherlock would probably be _happier_ with the rat.

“Take, eat,” said John, as he pushed the plate into Sherlock’s hand. “Then sleep, when I come home at lunchtime you can complain about Mycroft all you like.”

Sherlock ate the toast with an expression that would put a sulky five year old to shame, but he was on his way to bed when John headed off to work so John was happy to count the whole morning as a success. It wasn’t until about halfway through his shift that he thought to wonder why Mycroft had been round so early.

Come lunch time, John was a little worried. No texting from Sherlock all morning. Now his flatmate _could_ have slept all morning. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility, even Sherlock slept he just liked to pretend he didn’t, but generally he only slept for a couple of hours at a time, unless it was a post-case crash. John was expecting texts about how insufferable Mycroft was by 11.30 at the latest. If there had been a case Sherlock would have texted, no question. John smirked to himself, it was less fun for Sherlock if he didn’t have someone to show off to.

A ridiculously shiny black car with tinted windows glided to a halt next to the pavement where John was standing. John fought the urge to sigh. This was going to be one of those fights where Sherlock and Mycroft shamelessly tried to use him as a pawn. John turned towards the car at parade rest, fully expecting ‘Anthea’ to emerge from the back seat, Blackberry in hand. But instead of that a well-dressed young man climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“Good afternoon, Dr Watson,” he said politely, holding out a hand for John to shake. “My name is Ianto Jones, I work for Torchwood. We were hoping to beg a moment of your time.”

John took the hand warily. The young man – Ianto – was smiling pleasantly and was nothing if not meticulously polite, but there was something underneath the manners. Something not quite right with the picture, something about it that didn’t fit. “Did Mycroft send you?” asked John carefully.

“Mr Holmes is the reason you ultimately came to our attention but no, not as such. Torchwood is… beyond the government. So to speak.”

“Beyond,” repeated John trying the word out. “So that’s like… illegal?”

There was a chuckle from inside the car and Ianto turned his head to glare through the tinted glass. The pleasant smile was back in place when he turned back to John. “No,” he said simply. He opened the car door for John.

“What if I don’t get in?” asked John.

Ianto smirked. “Then we drive away without you, and you carry on with your day.”

“Just like that?” asked John, narrowing his eyes at Ianto and tilting his head.

“Just like that,” confirmed Ianto with a shrug. “Of course then you’ll never know what this is all about.”

John struggled with himself for a minute, but ultimately got into the car. He found himself sitting next to another man. Blue shirt, braces, sleeves rolled up. Some kind of strange leather cuff buckled to his far wrist. He twisted in his seat to shake John’s hand, leaning across the space between them.

“Captain Jack Harkness, pleased to meet you, do call me Jack,” he said lightly, all perfect teeth and focused charm as he smiled. He looked like some kind of 50’s film star, an effect that was very much enhanced by the old fashioned clothes.

“Doctor Watson,” replied John carefully. “What’s all this about?”

“A Captain as well in fact,” said Harkness, still smiling. “Very impressive record, Captain. I was in the RAF myself.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” replied John lightly.

Captain Harkness smiled -well beamed at him would be more accurate. It was a bit like being a rabbit caught in headlights.

“What do you think of the car?” asked Harkness. “Ianto quite likes it but I’m not convinced. We have the SUV back home, but when in Rome…” John waited patiently for Harkness to stop waffling and get to the point. Harkness beamed again. “Not chatty are we?”

“I’m not,” agreed John. “You, however, seem to be.”

Harkness seemed to be amused by that. “Fair enough, straight to business then. Reminds me of an old girlfriend, never one for small talk. Not much for talking at all, but that’s the Carriul for you. She killed me in the end if I remember correctly. It was a bad break-up.”

“Tried to kill you?” asked John calmly raising an eyebrow.

Harkness looked blank for a second then that bloody grin was back. “Yes, ‘tried’ to,” he said like it was some kind of joke. “So Dr Watson, we would like to offer you a job.”

“A job?” asked John. “What sort of job.”

Harkness shrugged. “Medical. Broadly. It’s a little beyond your skill set but we offer an excellent training package. And perks.” Harkness raised an eyebrow at the last part, and John felt himself blush inexplicably.

“Beyond my skill set?” asked John.

“We’re Torchwood,” replied Harkness with a smirk and a shrug. “We deal with aliens.”

“Aliens?”

“From space. And… other places.”

“Aliens. From space,” repeated John. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Nope,” replied Harkness, snapping the ‘p’ sound and leaning further into John’s personal space. “Would you like to see?”

Before John could reply the car glided to a halt and Harkness leapt out in a flurry of movement. John was left standing next to Ianto.

“I’m sorry,” said the younger man. “He’s showing off a bit.”

John couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m used to it.”

Ianto gestured to the doorway of an expensive looking hotel. “Shall we?”

As soon as they got into the foyer they could hear the bangs and crashes from deeper within the hotel. A harried looking dark haired woman rushed over to them.

“Ianto, what took so long?” she asked abruptly.

“I thought you had everything under control?” asked Ianto his voice over sweet. The woman flashed a self-deprecating grin at Ianto.

“I did. The Xoid was no trouble. Got it contained in one of the big freezers like Jack asked. But there was a kid with a camera phone. I think he got out the back.” She winced.

Ianto sighed, but it was more fond than irritated. “I’ll keep an eye on you tube over the next few days then, shall I?” Neither of them seemed to be paying any mind to the loud bangs coming from what seemed like the direction of the dining room. 

The woman smiled. She had a gap between her front two teeth that John thought made her look sort of… sweet when she smiled like that. “You are an angel, Ianto Jones!”

“Oh I’m sorry!” said Ianto turning to John. “Dr Watson this is Gwen Cooper. Gwen this is Dr Watson.”

Gwen held out a hand that John shook. “Pleased to meet you,” said John politely. He couldn’t help but wondering what the hell was going on.

“Ah, you write that blog Ianto likes…”

Suddenly they heard Harkness yell over the crashing noises. “Ianto!”

Gwen just chuckled. “Go on then, don’t keep himself waiting.”

Ianto just rolled his eyes stepping to one side. “After you, Doctor?” he said gesturing towards the dining room. Once in the room Ianto took the lead, taking John through into the kitchens. Jack was stood by a large walk in freezer door. The banging was coming from within it. The door itself was buckled in places. Ianto widened his eyes slightly.

“I thought the cold would make it more docile?” he asked Jack.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Who said it hasn’t? Ready, Captain Doctor?”

“I’m sorry, what?” asked John as Jack Harkness opened the freezer door.

**

The first thing John is aware of when he wakes is the headache. It is a truly epic headache and it fills the whole world for a few moments, he screws his eyes shut against it. The next thing is Sherlock’s voice. A strangely soothing baritone that eventually resolves into words.

“… John, John. John, can you hear me?”

John groaned and pulled himself into an upright sitting position. “What… How did I get here?”

Sherlock crouched on the floor in front of John. He cupped his face with both hands and tilted it to one side. Then he touched Johns elbow and his collar. Suddenly he grabbed John’s foot and lifted it to look at the sole of his shoe. He leant back onto his heels. “What do you remember?”

“I was leaving work… then I woke up here. There was… a man, two men. I, I don’t know…” John struggled to remember. He knew that there was more but he couldn’t quite reach it.

Sherlock sighed. “You were here when I got back. As far as I am able to deduce you were dropped off by a car. Not one of Mycroft’s. You’ve been to the Ramada Jarvis hotel, where you were involved in a fight. The fight had three, maybe four participants. Your side won by the way.”

“Go team me,” said John weakly. “I’ve been drugged?”

“Obviously,” said Sherlock staring at a point just above John’s right ear. “Come on, we need to speak to Mycroft.”

Sherlock leaped up and John dragged himself off the sofa to follow. Sherlock’s sudden movement caused a mild sense of déjà vu but it was hardly out of character so John ignored it.

They went to Mycroft’s office, ‘Anthea’ led them in. For once John didn’t try to engage her in conversation, his head hurt too much. His shoulder wasn’t much better off. Mycroft was sat on one side of the desk. One the other side there were two comfortable chairs. In front of one of them was a packet of painkillers and a glass of water. John took the painkillers gratefully; Sherlock glared at his brother like it was a terrible insult. Mycroft just smirked.

“To what do I owe this pleasure dear brother?” asked Mycroft pleasantly.

Sherlock scowled. “This is Torchwood?” he asked. John was sat in one of the chairs but Sherlock was still standing, slightly behind ‘his’ chair.

“Torchwood?” frowned John. “I know that name.”

“Mycroft wants me to go and ‘retrieve’ something they stole,” sneered Sherlock, as if such a task was very much beneath him. “Apparently they have consistently outwitted the best the government can send. Not that it’s much of an achievement.”

Mycroft ignored Sherlock and spoke to John. “You were approached by them, we believe. The memory loss is entirely consistent with such an encounter. There is some kind of drug that they use to alter memories; the lost memories can be ‘triggered’ in certain cases. It appears to be dependent on the person and probably on the dosage,” he explained. “Your headache is a sign that your memories are trying to surface. Let’s see if we can help them, yes?”

Mycroft pulled a folder out of the drawer. It held several photos from CCTV cameras, the first was a picture of John stood next to a black car, talking with a young man in a suit. The man had his back to the camera. The next photo was the same scene from a different angle. More of the man’s face was visible but not enough to make an identification.

“He… He made me a coffee, not then, but later. Jones?” John asked Mycroft.

“Ianto Jones,” confirmed Mycroft, watching John over steepled fingers. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Mycroft shot him a look over John’s head. “ _John_ has to _remember_ , not you deduce.”

John looked at the last photo. Ianto Jones was holding the car door open and John was climbing in. John looked up at Mycroft. “No more photos?”

Mycroft looked uncomfortable. “The CCTV cameras from that point on were… disabled, along the route you took. We were unable to get anything from them.”

“Nothing at all?” asked Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

Mycroft shot and annoyed glance at Sherlock then sighed heavily. “Only this,” he replied passing over a fourth photo. Only this wasn’t a photo at all. It was white writing on a black background. “Now, now, Mycroft. No peeking. Love Jack xx.”

Sherlock did a very poor job of hiding his grin. But to be fair he wasn’t trying very hard. John frowned. “Do call me Jack,” he said to himself. “Captain Jack Harkness, RAF?” he asked Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled at John encouragingly. Or in a way that Mycroft probably thought was encouragingly, actually John felt it was coming across more as patronising git. “That is what he calls himself, but I can’t find any records to support that theory,” said Mycroft thoughtfully. “It’s interesting that Harkness would come himself. He’s the self-appointed ‘leader’ of that little group.”

“Torchwood,” said John. “They… offered me a job.” His eyes widened and he looked up at Mycroft. “There was an alien in the freezer, we fought it and they offered me a job. I said no… then…”

“Obviously they drugged you so you would forget,” said Sherlock sounding bored. “Really Mycroft, you should be able to keep better control of a minor government agency.”

“We’re outside the government actually,” came a rich amused voice from the doorway. “Outside the government, beyond the police, totally outside Mycroft Holmes sphere of influence.”

“Indeed,” said Mycroft standing and giving the stranger the sort of smile that usually had dictators looking for places to hide.

“Where did you come from?” asked John, twisting in his chair.

Jack Harkness tapped a large leather strap on his wrist. “Managed to cobble together a basic perception filter, one use only though. It’s burnt out the circuit. Shame.”

Sherlock took a step closer, frowning, his eyes flicked over to John then back over to Jack. John remembered this from Irene Adler. Was Sherlock having trouble reading Jack? John glanced up at Mycroft who looked… uncomfortable, underneath all his usual cool competence. Jack swept past Sherlock and Sherlock stepped closer to John.

“Are you okay?” John whispered to his friend.

“Too much information,” Sherlock whispered back sounding frustrated. “Not enough _context_ ”

Jack settled himself into the chair Sherlock had refused and propped his feet up on the table. “51st century time traveller. Does that help?” He grinned at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned again, his gaze flicking over several points on Jack’s body. His face relaxed. “Yes actually, it does.”

“Sherlock,” chided Mycroft, “You can hardly believe…”

“You have a better theory?” Sherlock asked his brother raising an eyebrow. Mycroft’s gaze followed the same path as his brothers. Jack sat up removing his feet from the desk and shrugging his shoulders. He smiled uncomfortably at John.

“Wow, that’s unpleasant isn’t it?” he said to John. “I’ve been leered at by the best but that…”

“It’s observing, not _leering_ ,” scoffed Sherlock with obvious contempt.

“Go on then,” said Jack with the air of challenge about him. “What can you observe?”

“Sherlock…” warned John, but Sherlock waved his concern away. Jack looked too happy about this, somehow it was some kind of trap.

“Your coat,” Sherlock started. “1940’s in style but not original, the buttons however are. Strong sentimental tie to that era then. Most likely an emotional connection to a person or persons. From your bearing you’ve spent most of your adult life in the military in one form or another. But there was a long period, possibly a decade where you were ‘freelance’ and of dubious legality, you’re quite proud of that. Involved in at least three major wars. Both world wars and one other. Your past, our future. You take care of your appearance, it’s very important to you. Partly because you use it to get what you want and partly because you’re insecure about your age. Older than you look, you dye your hair, you have a younger lover, mid to late 20’s, a relationship that recently became monogamous. Several excellently done ‘invisible’ mending’s to your coat; so dangerous lifestyle and/or job. Most of the cuts were caused by claws rather than knives, but not consistent with any animals I know of, lending weight to John’s story of - what he believed to be - aliens.” Sherlock favoured Jack with a tight smile. “Did I miss anything?”

Jack’s grin looked a little brittle now. “Only one major thing, but there’s no way for you to get _that_. I’m not sure if I want to applaud you or slap you. Very clever.”

Sherlock looked very pleased with himself and a little intrigued with Jack. John was left with the very odd feeling that Jack was in some way _charming_ Sherlock, he resolved not to leave them alone at any point. He shifted forward in his chair, unconsciously moving closer to Sherlock. Jack noticed; the grin became a little more real and a little more like a smirk and John felt an urge to randomly announce that he and Sherlock were not a couple. Fortunately he was saved from that embarrassment by more people entering the room. A young man in a suit carrying tray of drinks, a woman about the same age, and Anthea.

“Would you like me to call security, Sir?” asked Anthea, not looking up from whatever she was doing on her phone.

Mycroft looked for a moment like he was seriously considering it, but he just shook his head. “No, I think not. Have Michael on stand-by though. And clear the rest of my afternoon, would you?”

Anthea nodded and retreated to the side of the doorway with her ever present phone. The young man brought his tray over to the desk and the young woman went to stand behind Jack’s chair.

“Ah,” said Sherlock looking at the young man. “The lover then.”

The young man blushed slightly and glanced at Jack who shook his head an infinitesimal amount. The young man looked down at his tray and when he looked back up there was only a slightly bored expression on his face. It reminded John a little of Anthea. Sherlock drew a breath like he was going to start deducing again.

The young man interrupted. “Please, Sir. I’d rather you didn’t. Not in front of the boss.” He nodded towards Jack.

“Secrets?” asked Jack with a real, warm smile.”

The young man smiled back, just as warmly. “Always.”

“Ianto!” John blurted out. “You’re Ianto. You said you were a fan of my blog, and you made coffee, and you said ‘sorry’ as I was drinking it.”

“Impressive,” said Ianto raising an eyebrow. “I do believe that beats Gwen’s record?” He smiled blankly at his colleagues who both groaned.

“Yes, yes,” said the woman. “We owe you 20 quid. But he had help, I broke the retcon on my own.”

Ianto tutted. “Sour grapes, Gwen?” He put a large cup in front of Mycroft. “Mr Holmes Senior, Latte, hazelnut syrup, two sugars.” A smaller cup for John and a very similar one for Sherlock. “Dr Watson, strong tea, one sugar. Mr Holmes the younger, the same. And for Jack and Gwen, the usual.” The last two mugs he placed by Jack and Gwen.

“Cheers love,” said Gwen picking up her mug as Ianto picked up the tray.

“Why would we drink these, knowing that you drugged John’s earlier drink?” asked Sherlock.

Jack picked up his mug and took a sip. “Suit yourselves,” he said with a shrug. Ianto nodded and went to stand by Anthea. John figured he’d already been drugged once and he could really do with a drink. His mouth felt like sandpaper. As he drank he caught Jack looking at him out the corner of his eye. He looked… pleased? Sherlock and Mycroft glared at him.

“What?” said John. “It’s a good cup of tea.”

“God help the British empire,” Mycroft muttered to himself.

“So,” said Jack brightly. “We’re here to pick up something that one of your agents disturbed when he has trying to break into our facility. Naughty.” Jack directed a mock frown at Mycroft.

Mycroft merely smiled tightly back and raised an eyebrow. “I believe that the agent in question was attempting to recover property belonging to the British Government. Something that you replaced with a rather obvious forgery.”

“Now, now,” chided Jack. “You’ll hurt Ianto’s feelings. He spent a whole week on that, and it did fool several leading Egyptologists. We would have got away with it if you hadn’t taken a personal interest.”

“Egyptology is a minor hobby,” said Mycroft lightly. “Still I really must insist…”

“No,” interrupted Jack. His voice suddenly had steel in it.

“I’m sorry?” said Mycroft, his voice now something sharp and dangerous.

“We are keeping it. Trust me, it is far safer with us.”

“I’m to take your word for it?”

“Doesn’t matter, there’s nothing you can do.” Jack smiled but there was nothing warm or nice about it.

“If that’s true, then why are you here?”

Jack leant back in his chair and the air of amusement was back. “Four reasons. One, we wanted to offer Dr Watson a job.” He winked at John. “Offer is still open by the way.” Sherlock stiffened at that.

“John is quite happy here,” he sniffed.

Jack gave Sherlock an appraising look. “I’m getting that.” Jack somehow infused those three words with a deeper meaning. John was _not_ blushing damnit!

“Two,” continued Jack. “We had to recover the alien your people woke up. Three, Gwen had an important question to ask. Gwen?”

“Where did you get your brolly?” she asked Mycroft

“I’m sorry, what?” asked Mycroft.

“The umbrella? I still have to get Ianto a birthday present,” she smiled sheepishly looking round to include John and Sherlock. “He is just impossible to buy for.”

“James Smith & Sons, Oxford street,” said Mycroft politely looking a little confused.

“Right,” said Gwen jotting it down in a notebook. “Because I really can’t get him the James Bond boxset _again_. Well,” she said brightly putting the book into her pocket. “Been great to meet you all. And Dr Watson, the offer really is always open if you want a job. Even if it’s just to get away from the Holmes’s for a bit.” She passed John a business card, no name just a phone number.

John _felt_ Sherlock’s indignation at that. “That was a real offer then? Not just you trying to wind Mycroft up?” he asked slowly

Gwen smiled showing off the gap in her teeth. “I’ll be honest, that too. But we don’t hand out job offers lightly. Not many people can do what we do.”

Sherlock snorted but Gwen ignored him.

“Really the only problem any of us had with hiring you is we’d most probably end up with Sherlock Holmes too, and we already have a narcissist in a big coat who thinks he knows everything.”

“Oi!” said Jack. “I’m right here!” Gwen just smirked. Jack sighed.

“What was reason four?” asked Mycroft, his annoyance showing now. “Wasting my time?”

“We would never do that!” said Jack with exaggerated indignation. “Feeling tired yet?”

Mycroft shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. Sherlock suddenly grabbed Jack’s bad shoulder and John winced.

“John…” started Sherlock

Mycroft glanced at his untouched coffee. “It was in the air,” said Jack smugly. “ _Antidote_ was in the drinks…”

Sherlock slumped to his knees and dropped to the floor. Mycroft fell forward onto the desk. John was at Sherlock’s side in half a second. His pulse and breathing was steady.

“Just a sedative,” said Gwen kindly. “No-one is allergic, we checked. They’ll wake up all memories intact in about an hour.

John looked up. “What about me?”

“You drank the tea,” said Jack almost sounding proud. “You would make such a good Torchwood operative.”

John looked over to Anthea who had also passed out, Ianto was knelt next to her and had her phone plugged into some kind of handheld electronic device John didn’t recognise. “So that was reason four?” he asked gesturing to Ianto.

“Of course,” said Jack.

“All done,” said Ianto placing the phone back in Anthea’s hand and standing up. “Shall I get the car?”

“Please, Ianto,” confirmed Jack.

“Dr Watson, it was a pleasure to meet you,” said Ianto merriment dancing in his eyes. “Could you please tell Mr Holmes that I _really_ like his coat.”

“Hey!” shouted Jack as Ianto turned to leave. “This is payback for flirting with that Detective Inspector isn’t it?”

Jack followed Ianto out. Gwen chuckled. “Do you expect me not to tell them about this?” John asked her anger fighting to the surface.

“Of course not,” frowned Gwen. “I expect you’ll tell them exactly what happened. You’re a good man, John. Hope to hear from you.” Then she left too.

John looked round the room. Might as well finish his tea then…


End file.
